


A Million Shadows [2/10]

by balthesar



Series: A Million Shadows [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-02
Updated: 2011-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balthesar/pseuds/balthesar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But what Gwen felt most guilty about -- and Torchwood seemed to be number one at skewing your priorities -- was after she'd had a tumbler of scotch and scrubbed the blood off her arms and finally stopped shaking, she had ended up leaning on Jack's shoulder in the dim early-morning twilight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Million Shadows [2/10]

The sun was rising, peach-grey against the thin clouds, as Gwen pulled into the drive. She felt a twinge of guilt in the bottom of her stomach; she'd forgotten to call Rhys and for once, he hadn't called her at an inopportune moment. It had been a long damn night. She'd coped with transdimensionally-transmogrified human-emotion ghost things and the idea of a 'quantum time-traveling alien' had been weird enough alone to make it a long night. She'd been trapped into killing a person for the first time in her life -- murdered, she had _murdered_ Morgan -- and Owen was an infuriating and unsettling mash of complete bastard and almost contrite.

But what she felt most guilty about -- and Torchwood seemed to be number one at skewing your priorities -- was after she'd had a tumbler of scotch and scrubbed the blood off her arms and finally stopped shaking, she had ended up leaning on Jack's shoulder in the dim early-morning twilight. She hadn't even thought about Rhys then, with her head still spinning a bit and Jack's arm around her. Gwen should've, but she hadn't; she'd just thought about how many terrible things Jack must have seen, and how warm Ed Morgan's blood was when he'd run himself on the switchblade, and how pleasantly spicy Jack's aftershave smelled. She'd nearly kissed Jack again then, overlooking the Bay; his lips had been surprisingly soft the first -- and last -- time she'd kissed him. It was hard to resist the temptation and impossible to resist the thought.

Her keys jangled together as she turned them in the lock, the fob she'd picked up in Las Vegas clinking against her keys for the 'Historic Cardiff Walking Tours' office and her car. The thought of Jack hard was an even more tempting thought -- she should be blushing, but instead her mouth just went dry.

Rhys never wore aftershave; maybe she should suggest it. Maybe she could find something similar. A nice warm scent would do well on Rhys, cinnamon and leather or something.

A light was on in the kitchen. She dropped her keys quietly in the bowl on the hall table.

"Gwen, is that you?"

Shrugging off her jacket, Gwen tossed it over the back of the sofa and went into the kitchen. "Who else?"

"Just checking," Rhys replied, leaning back from the computer for a kiss. She bent over and kissed him upside down; she was always amused at 'Spiderman kisses'.

"You're up early," Gwen noted noncommittally, making herself a cup of instant decaf.

Rhys nodded, clicking away from 'BlokesDoCooking.com' and hitting print. "Got to be in early today. There's a bit of a mess coming up the M4 this morning." He glanced up at her again. "You were out late."

"Yeah, well..." Gwen shrugged. "It was a long night. Sorry I didn't call."

"Crime doesn't sleep, does it? There's some leftover shepherd's pie in the fridge. Be sure to take a good nap, alright?"

"I will." Gwen smiled as Rhys kissed her on the cheek and headed into the living room. It didn't seem fair to burden him with _everything_ , but maybe she could tell him a little. After all, it only seemed right to _try_ to be honest. "... Rhys?"

"Love?"

No, better not. "Love you."

Rhys came back in, one arm into his jacket, and kissed her again. "Love you too. How does roast beef tonight sound? With Yorkshire pud?"

Gwen smiled a little. "Delicious."

***

Halfway through a cup of coffee and a piece of toast, and after scanning the headlines on the local, national and international news sites, Gwen logged onto the instant messenger. Maybe someone from work would be on, someone who would understand how bloody weird her life had become.

Instead, there was Owen. A message box popped up almost instantaneously.

     OWEN: what teh hell are u doing online? thought u would b off getting shagged

 _That_ was how he said hello? No wonder he was so popular.

     GWEN: hello to you too

     OWEN: just sayin

     GWEN: Rhys had an early morning

     OWEN: sad for u

She didn't know what Owen was playing at -- which wasn't really new. Sometimes Owen was a gold-plated bastard and seemed to get off on it, and sometimes he was... Well. She wasn't sure how to put it; sometimes he seemed to drop his antagonistic bullshit and actually _care_ about the people around him. It was hard to tell, especially in text, what was the bastard talking and what was the decent bloke.

     GWEN: why are you still up?  
     GWEN: wait, pretend I didn't ask that

     OWEN: all u have to say is the word, luv

Bastard, then. She rolled her eyes as she sipped her coffee.

     GWEN: how is this for the word? no

     OWEN: tough crowd

     GWEN: why are you still talking to me?

     OWEN: it wasnt ur fault

Gwen paused and stared at the screen for several long seconds, her fingers hovering over the keys as her stomach clenched. Sometimes he could get under her skin and that was irritating. Mostly.

     GWEN: :

     OWEN: hhe wanted to make it somenoe elses fault, didnt matter who

     GWEN: yeah well  
     GWEN: it's your fault that it was my fault

She almost immediately regretted typing it, but it was early -- that was a good excuse, wasn't it? -- and she was tired and she _had_ been cornered into murdering a man -- a man who had done some bloody awful things, but still -- because Owen didn't handle himself in the situation.

Maybe being less blunt about it would've been better, but Owen certainly wasn't one to mince his words, even if it would be more polite. She and Owen didn't seem to manage polite very often.

The greyed-out system message indicated Owen was typing; it blinked off, and a few seconds later blinked back on.

     OWEN: sorry

Gwen's eyebrows rose a little. Was he actually sorry? Was he just saying it? And how did he mean it? Sorry that she'd killed him instead of letting Owen do it? Sorry that he'd put her in the situation? Sorry that she was narked about it?

Ugh. Trying to analyse him was doing her head in.

     GWEN: nevermind

     OWEN: so  
     OWEN: u and jack again on teh roof?

     GWEN: oh please

The problem with Torchwood was that everyone's noses were always in everyone else's business. What she'd done on the roof with Jack -- essentially _nothing_ , just talking and leaning against him -- was perfectly innocent. And how did Owen even know? He probably didn't, probably was just guessing, trying to bother her. Gwen toyed with the idea of replying with something rude ("Not half as dirty as what you and the weevil get up to"), but arguing with Owen was just exhausting.

'Owen is typing a message' blinked on again; Gwen closed the window and signed off. She swallowed the rest of her lukewarm coffee and leaned back in the chair. Sunlight was streaming in, slanting across the counter and cupboards, the dining room table slightly cluttered with bills and circulars and recipe print-offs. It had been home for so long, but this morning, Gwen felt strangely out of place.

Dumping her cup in the sink, she headed into the living room and up the stairs. Maybe she'd bother to wash some dishes or tidy up, but Rhys would probably do it later. After a brief shower, she crawled into bed and hoped for no dreams -- unless Jack appeared in the starring role.


End file.
